


Hello, my name is _____________

by GorgonizedGalaxies



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spiderman - Fandom, Za'Marxinzax
Genre: Fakkin gay spandex porn, M/M, OCxDeadpool, SAVEME, Spandex porn, Spideypool - Freeform, Za'MarxinZAXXXXX, Za'Marxinzax will always be a bottom bish to Deadpool, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6683569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorgonizedGalaxies/pseuds/GorgonizedGalaxies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically a mix of Spiderman x Deadpool/Za'Marxinzax fluff, but no porn with them. Mostly just making my OC get pounded by Deadpool<br/>I crave spandex porn. This is why this exists.<br/>Here's a link to go see the spandex porn, and get to know how Za'Marxinzax actually looks:<br/>http://sta.sh/0spsjytedyz</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listen the Fuck Up

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Deadpool meant when he said he wanted to ‘go at it.’ Surely, it meant he wanted to get down and dirty, have a little fun in bed. Nothing else! Nothing else would’ve made any more sense than sex.  
But Deadpool is literally unpredictable. Not a single thing about him makes sense. Not with this man. Or with Za’Marxinzax. The one man that screwed with Deadpool’s tiny love and admiration for Spiderman; Za’Marxinzax. With all of the running and screaming they did, the two anti-heroes, you’d think they were filming a movie nearby or something. Deadpool’s already got his own, but Za’Marxinzax? Not so much. Not yet. Maybe a few pornos, but no films.  
But that doesn’t matter. What matters right now, is getting you to understand where this is coming from.   
Time to explain a whole lotta shit.

Let’s start with Za’Marxinzax. Clearly, you don’t know much about him. None of you do. At all. But Za’Mar? Za’marxinzax is a typical twenty-seven-year-old male. Built, strong, and handsome. If, that is, you can call a man with no skin at all handsome. Luckily, Za’Marxinzax’s ‘maker’ didn’t make him quite as ugly or terrifying had you just walked up to John Cena and skinned him on the spot. See, his face was different… not quite like the anatomy of the weird muscleman pictures you find in ninth grade health textbooks. And, he wasn’t /that/ muscley.   
Thank god.  
Za’Marxinzax, is well, a man, as said earlier. White? Black? Asian? Hispanic? Other various ethnicities you can think of? Not Za’Mar. The man himself can’t even remember his original race before he became the world’s oddest man alive. We all like to believe he was Caucasian, just because of how his hair is, how he talks, his voice, other various shit; such as his dick size (too small to be black), but you know. Don’t tell him that. Anyways, this man is six three. A whopper of muscle, truly horrifying. With that thick, Virginian accent that makes him sound like a manly Paula Dean, you’d be scared too.  
What else is there to know about him? It’s pretty hard to describe someone such as Za’Marxinzax. He’s literally all muscle. No fat, no skin, just muscle. How else is there to describe him? This is really hard. Please just continue reading. Sorry.  
Well, he has an obnoxious sense of humor. He’s basically a stranger, quirkier, eviler version of Deadpool. Let’s see…. He likes ducks! Not when they’re cooked, just the animal. Okay, he LOVES ducks. He has an entire room dedicated to them. Rubber duckies, real duckies, plush duckies, everything duckies. Name something ducky, and he’s got it.  
The same goes for scarves. This man is a stupidly stupid fashionisto. Don’t call him a fashionista unless you want your head on his wall. But, yeah, scarves. Lots of ‘em. Literally, his main weapon is just a metal scarf. Shit! That’s hard to explain as well. Well, you see, it has these ends; like a normal scarf, but made of metal. And /these/ ends are as sharp as a freshly made machete. Really, fucking, sharp. Its red, the thing is red. Oh, wait! So you know of the game Soul Caliber? Well, do you know the chick Ivy? And her awesome whip sword thing? If you don’t, go Google that shit. And that’s basically Za’Marxinzax’s weapon. But, you know, it’s a scarf. Whatever, it’s really fucking difficult to explain.  
Anywhore, Za’Marxinzax is infatuated with Spiderman. He’s literally got an entire room dedicated to the teen. No joke. He’s so in love with him, it’s strange, and no one really knows /why/ he’s so in love with him. But, he is, and that’s all that matters.  
Because that brings us to the main story. The one with Za’Marxinzax and Deadpool making mass destruction of a city over the boy called Spiderman, and eventually getting over rejection with… other things. Enough of horrid explaining, let’s just move on to the actual story. Present time. Excuse any interruptions you may encounter; explaining this story is quite necessary.  
****  
“You know, with the benefit of the doubt--” A single punch to the face had Za’Marxinzax falling backwards onto the cracked pavement. His body made an obnoxiously loud snap, and he growled in pain. He shut his eyes for a moment before letting out a small hiss.  
“Who are you, Ultron? For god’s sake. Get up and fight like a man,” Deadpool walked over to Za’Marxinzax, where he stood over him. “Maybe you ought to get more muscle, you--“   
And there it was! The moment we all knew was bound to happen. Za’Marxinzax ripped his arm off; its hand wrapped into a fist, and smashed it against Deadpool’s crotch. Right in his fucking dick, right in the baby maker. Not only did the merc’s eyes grow wide, you’d have thought you could see tears making their way outta his mask. “You ought to shut the fuck up, before I hit you in the vagina again.” Za’Marxinzax stood upright again, blood dripping from his arm. But it never reached the ground; instead, it fell slowly, but reversed the fall and dripped right back into the vein. A cycle of blood, defying gravity. His ripped limb grew the muscle fibers it needed to make its way back to Za’Mar’s body. The fibers grew, getting larger, reaching out for the arm. They attached and Za’Marxinzax flinched, the muscles entwining with each other to reform his arm. The fibers stitched each other into place, and he bent his elbow, moved his wrist, and it was back in place.  
Deadpool had fallen to the ground in a fetal position, where he held his groin. He rolled slightly, grumbling in agony. “Why the fuck… did you have to rip off your arm for that..?” He had one eye open, glaring at his enemy.  
“Because your dick is too small and I couldn’t reach it normally from where I was. Did you know? If I curl my hand into a fist, then tear it off, the limb stiffens? Then it’s like a brick. I basically just smashed in your penis with a brick. How does that make you feel?” He walked over to Deadpool, winking. “Ready to succumb to my greatness now?” A smile was apparent through the fabric over Za’Marxinzax’s mouth.  
“Never,” Deadpool replied, stumbling back up onto his feet. “But I’ll let you have this win, only because I don’t want to see your body reattach itself into one piece again. Cos, you know if I had my way, your limbs would all be detached and laying there trying to connect themselves back to your torso.” He shook his head. “You’re gross. Do you just… what if someone ripped off your arm and put it in a box?”  
“For fuck’s sake, I could just open the damn box.”  
“You know what I mean. Would you be armless forever then?”  
“No. I’d break off your arm and attach it to my own body. I don’t know why it works, but it does. So you wanna gimme an arm now, eh?”  
“Of course not. Wait… Does that mean all of your limbs were someone else’s?!”   
“Honestly, what is your IQ? Not all of these limbs were other people’s! Just some. Like my entire left leg was some from chick who was an innocent bystander. Hell, I needed it more than her.”  
“You’re a sick, sick man. If it was a female’s, how is it all gross and muscley now?”  
“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re plotting a way to try and kill me, Wade. It’s odd you have all these questions. Let me just explain: Say you rip off my leg and put it in a box that for some stupid reason I can’t open. Now a lady walks by me and I take her leg. I rip it off and shove it against the wound where MY leg shoulda gone. The muscle fibers would hesitate before attaching, but they would. They’d adjust and expand to a more manly leg, losing all of the skin and fat during the process. Afterwards, the leg’s cells would exile all of the previous DNA and insert my DNA. Then it would be just like my last leg. See, my body craves order. I never wanted to be like this, but I am.”  
“So do you—“  
“Keep spare bodies?”  
“Do you read minds?”  
“Sure, I read minds. And yes, I do keep spare bodies. I have a bunch of them.”  
“Do you name them?”  
“Only one.”  
“And its name is?”  
“This is when you realize I’m better than you.” Za’Marxinzax smiled and turned away, walking deeper into the destruction, taking in all the dead bystanders’ aromas, dust from fallen buildings, and smoke from fires set in costs to kill Deadpool; even if he was immortal. “His name is Justin Case.” Rewrapping his metal scarf, which was soaked in Wade’s blood, he paced forward. His destination? Wherever Spiderman was.  
Deadpool gawked as Za’Marxinzax practically skipped away. “He’s one point of cool ahead of me. One.” Shaking his head, he turned and walked away as well.  
***  
“What do you mean you’re too good for me? We’re basically equal. C’mon. Lemme in?” Za’Marxinzax stood in front of Peter Parker’s apartment doorway, a trail of blood behind him.  
“No, I said no. Look at you! You’re filthy! Jesus, man, why do you even like me so much?” The one person who had all of Za’Marxinzax’s love stood with his arms crossed and angry. “I’m not even into… Whatever. Just… go home, Za’Mar….”  
“Nah. I just want to see you, and your beautiful face every day. Better than mine.” Za’Marxinzax just stood there calmly, though on the inside he felt his heart skip a beat when Peter referred to him as ‘Za’Mar.’  
“We all know. No skin? Y’know, I’ve never even seen you without that mask on.”  
“That’s because you don’t want to see it. I… You’d definitely never like me then,” Za’Marxinzax sighed, shaking his head as he stepped back and looked down.   
“I don’t know. You’re just as bad as Wade, Za’Mar. I mean… were you two seriously fighting, over me?”   
“Well, yeah. What else do we have to fight over? I mean he owes me a coupla bucks, but still…”  
Peter sighed and closed his eyes. “Just go home, Za’Mar. I can’t house you in that condition.”  
Za’Marxinzax rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t even let me set a foot in if I were clean.”  
“That’s not true.”  
“Isn’t it?” Za’Marxinzax looked up at him and studied him, creating a mental map of how his face changed when he sighed. His skin made it possible, made it easier to read his emotions. Za’Marxinzax could read anyone, he studied anatomy so well he knew what every little muscle twitch meant. Skin. Something he wished he still had. Maybe then Peter would like him.  
“You know it isn’t…” Peter sighed and unfolded his arms. “I don’t hate you.”  
“First of all, it is true. Second of all… you kinda do.” He shrugged aggressively (because apparently that’s a thing), and turned on his heel, walking away. “If you don’t, then I’d be damned! You sure do act like ya hate my guts.”  
Peter watched him walk away, embarrassed by his childish behavior. “I really don’t, but sometimes I wish I did…” He mumbled.  
“Spidey, open uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.” A loud, obnoxious knock landed on Peter’s apartment door once again. This time though, it was someone who was even worse than Za’Marxinzax.  
Peter groaned loudly as he stomped to the door, swinging it open. “What do you want?! It is nearly midnight, Wade!” He glared at the taller and older man, who stood proudly.  
“Just wanted to know if ya wanted to join me for a drink! How old are you? Eh… Can you drink? Whatever. Doesn’t make a difference.” He turned and flipped open a pouch attached to his belt, pulling a couple of bottles of beer out. “Eh??” He looked back to Peter, smiling through his veneer.  
Peter just glowered at him, grumbling. “You’re worse than Za’Mar.” He slammed the door shut, not caring if he woke the neighbors.   
Deadpool stood speechless. “Whaddaya mean? I’m way better than him! I mean… I…” He was really having a hard time trying to figure out how he was better than Za’Marxinzax. “I dunno. I look better! I have skin?”  
“As if skin matters! He’s not a jerk.”  
“Oh, now I’m a jerk. Okay then.” He rolled his eyes and opened one of the bottles, downing it all. “One day, baby boy, I’ll get you. You will be miiiiine!” With emphasis on the mine, he made an episode of himself as Peter’s neighbors looked at him angrily and bewildered.   
Peter sat back on his bed and waited for Wade to leave, a pillow over his face as he groaned into it. Of all people, why must those two morons hafta be in love with him?


	2. A Lot of Spandex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a reeeeeally short chapter, basically just a lead up to the hard spandex male sex that's gonna be in the next chapter.  
> Literally  
> I think i'll have a lot of time to write considering I'm suffering from fuckING TONSILLITIS

“You got rejected too, huh?” Deadpool sat on his couch, ‘relaxing’ and holding a beer. He offered one to Za’Marxinzax, who sat in full body attire, not a single bit of his body apparent. He was even worse than Deadpool. Skin-wise, at least. Literally, he had none.  
“Yup. That’s why I came here. Are we even friends? I don’t even know. I still kinda hold a grudge over you for killing Roger (Roger was Za’Marxinzax’s BEST friend, also the one who made him skinless), but you know. I killed you at least five times, but you just regenerate,” Za’Marxinzax said calmly with a sigh as he took the beer from Wade’s hands.  
“We’re not friends-friends. We’re just kinda… there. Like POOF! I guess, don’t ask me, I was never good with that shit. All I know is I try to cut off your dick, you try to suck mine.”  
“That’s not true!”  
“Is it not? Because I remember very clearly how well you—“  
“Shut the fuck up! That NEVER happened! I was drunk, and I’m pretty sure you drugged me, you asshole!” If he had skin, he would’ve blushed. He popped the cap off and looked at it for a minute before glaring at Wade. “You didn’t roofie this one, did you?”  
“Yes, I roofied a bottle that was sealed shut.” The merc rolled his eyes. “You know? I never asked you what you actually do outside of trying to kill me. So, what DO you do?”  
“All I do is kill people. I kill them, take their money, et cetera. Not much. Sometimes I just pick pocket, sometimes, I… well. Stuff.” Za’Marxinzax lowered his bulky scarf a little, just enough so he could lift up his mask to drink. Even without lips, he could drink, eat, and, well, suck dick. Very well. According to Deadpool, at least. (and hundreds of other guys, but hey) Though he didn’t need to eat or drink, he did. Most of the time it resulted in serious pain, because his body had no idea what to do with it. He always regretted it afterwards, because he was either thinking he was gonna die; his body ripped itself up just to get the stuff out of him, or he barfed his guts up. Sometimes literally.   
Deadpool watched him as he did so; looking at his chin, which had skin, and watching him just pour the alcohol down his throat. “Do you not have a gag reflex?”  
After all of it was gone, he sighed and turned to Wade, covering his mouth back up. “Nope.”  
“You’re really weird. How? Do you even taste that stuff?”  
“Of course. I… I don’t know. I’d just really prefer not to speak about it.”  
“Oh. Well okay. But uh… I really kinda wanna know…” Deadpool turned away for a moment before looking back at Za’Marxinzax. “In all seriousness, why are you so ashamed of your body?”  
“You know exactly why, Wade,” Za’Marxinzax lowered his gaze. “You have skin. I do not. Could you imagine walking around as if someone just peeled all your skin off? It’s horrible, Wade. Trust me. No one would accept me, and that’s why I’m a killer.”  
“I accept you! It’s not like I’m any different. I may have skin, but its ugly and fucked up. So what can I do? Be proud of who I am!”  
“You’re not acting like you normally do,” Za’Marxinzax only pushed his scarf up farther. He could feel the cold metal through his mask, pressing against his flesh.   
“I don’t know. I really just wanna… See your body? It’s gotta be better than mine,” Wade inched closer to Za’Marxinzax, who was sitting uncomfortably. “It kinda struck me, I’m curious.”  
“Keep your curiosity away from me…” He looked over and saw him getting closer. Two men staring at each other while sitting in spandex.  
When would that ever lead to something good?


End file.
